


Resistance

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America figures out just what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance

Title: Resistance  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: America/England  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

As a child, England is America’s favourite person. He’s slightly strange but he’s kind, and America loves him more than anything.

“Will I be big and strong like you when I grow up?” America asks.

“Of course,” England assures him, giving America the kind of smile that never fails to make his life that much brighter.

“Will I be handsome?” America presses.

England laughs, pats him on the head. “Handsome enough to break hearts,” he promises.

America doesn’t know it yet, but that heart will someday be England’s.

~~

Times passes by. America grows older. His feelings for England begin to change.

America kisses England for the first time while he sleeps, oblivious to the turmoil he’s been putting America through lately. His lips are warm and dry under America’s, and so very soft.

America’s heart nearly stops beating altogether when England suddenly stirs. He holds his breath; he’s terrified that England might wake up.

He breathes again when England’s eyes remain closed, his head turning on the pillow away from him.

Somehow, it feels like a rejection.

~~

England has no idea what he does to America. Things are different now, but he doesn’t seem to realise just how much.

England doesn’t like change. He doesn’t like it when America behaves in ways that he deems inappropriate.

Slowly but surely, America is beginning to resist him. He challenges England in ways he never did before, argues with him, makes his own opinion known. It doesn’t seem to count for much. England still sees him as a child, as someone who still needs to be taken care of.

America is not a child anymore, but he’s not yet an adult. He’s at that awkward middle stage, the one where he’s not sure exactly what he wants, where all he knows is what he doesn’t want. He doesn’t want England to treat him like a kid. England needs to look closer and see America for who he really is, but force of habit makes him blind.

America hates it when England pats him on the head. It makes him feel small and insignificant. He’s taller than England now, and stronger. He still loves England, but it’s not the same as it once was. England hurts him, confuses him. It’s enough to make America resentful.

He tells England those three words one day, works up the courage to say them out loud.

England smiles at him, gentle and indulgent. “I love you too,” he says.

It leaves America frustrated, because he knows England doesn’t mean it the same way he does. England loves him as a little brother, as someone in need of guidance and protection.

America doesn’t want either of those things. He doesn’t need them anymore. He’s old enough to make his own decisions.

If England doesn’t understand, then America will have to show him.

~~

The frustration finally gets the better of America one day. He doesn’t take well to being told what to do anymore, but England refuses to listen to him. It makes America angry with him, truly angry, for the first time since he can remember.

He catches England’s wrists, pinning him securely against the wall so he can’t struggle. England has to look up at him to meet his gaze. It makes America feel like the superior one having the advantage in height and power, not that he would have ever thought to use it against England before.

England’s eyes are wide. He’s afraid, America realises, afraid of the unexpected. For once, not everything is going according to his plans.

He tries to laugh it off. “All right,” he soothes, still talking down to America, still condescending. “You’ve had your moment of rebellion. Let’s calm ourselves with a nice cup of tea.”

“No,” America says stubbornly. He moves his hips closer to England, letting him feel for himself the kind of effect he has on him. He’s come too far to turn back now.

He kisses England for the second time. England’s lips are just as soft as America remembers, but he’s completely unresponsive.

“Oh,” England says afterwards, forcing a smile. “I see.”

No he doesn’t, America thinks, not really. He doesn’t understand anything at all.

“I suppose it’s only to be expected,” England continues. He sounds nervous. “You are at that age. Besides, I’ve taught you everything else.”

He’s treating it like just another lesson, likes it’s one more task for him to cross off his list of things for America to learn. It annoys America, so he kisses England again. England lets him, yields to him, but it’s not what America wants.

England is business as usual once they move to the bedroom, instructs America to fetch some liniment. America asks why.

“Because,” England explains, blushing, not looking America in the eye, “if you’re going to do something, you should do it properly. You’ll hurt me otherwise.”

America pauses at that. For all the conflicted emotions England stirs within him, the last thing he wants is to inflict pain. “There’s a right and a wrong way to this?” he says, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

“Don’t worry,” England says. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you how.”

He’s naked from the waist up when America returns. He’s so pale, much paler than America, whose skin has bronzed from working longs days in the fields under the sun. America spots old scars here and there scattered over England’s upper body.

America’s gaze trails down past England’s waist. “Want me to help you with the rest?”

England shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can manage.”

He keeps saying that, things like “it’s okay” and “don’t worry.” It’s as if England is trying to reassure himself rather than America.

“Don’t hold back,” America tells him. “Aren’t you always saying that I need to be more considerate?”

“I can manage,” England repeats, sharper this time.

He’s not even hard, America notices, as England finishes stripping himself. He’s been aroused ever since they started arguing earlier, since his body began reacting to any kind of close proximity to England.

America moves to undress himself, stops when England tells him not to. He keeps himself still, allowing England to do the job for him. England rids him of his braces, his shirt. The rest of America’s clothing quickly follows, leaving them both nude.

A wave of self-consciousness washes over America when England’s eyes go to his cock. “Um, right,” he says. “To the bed?”

England shows him how to touch, how to kiss, what feels good. America guesses there must have been others before him, and he hates England a little for making him feel so jealous. It’s impossible to teach something without having learnt it for yourself first, after all.

America wonders who else has had their hands on England’s body. He wonders who else has kissed him. The thought of England being touched by someone other than him makes America want to mark him, to stake his own claim. That’s why he leaves bruises behind with his mouth on the delicate skin of England’s throat, so that England will look at them and see them and remember that it was America who did this.

America’s cock aches to be where his fingers are as he prepares England with the liniment, following his instructions and stretching him carefully open. Then he decided to take his own approach, leaning forward and kissing the tip of England’s cock. It’s fully erect now, and it jerks against America’s lips.

“Is this good?” he whispers. “Is this what you like?”

England doesn’t answer, just grits his teeth and tells America to focus on what he should be doing. America ignores him, licks the underside of England’s cock experimentally. A thrill of pleasure snakes through him when he hears England cry out.

“Stop,” England says, voice trembling. He swallows, voice steadier when he speaks again. “I’m ready for you.”

America isn’t so sure, but he’s young and he’s eager and he’s impatient. England is so hot and tight around him when America pushes inside at last. Every instinct is screaming at him to just start thrusting, but he somehow manages to restrain himself. England’s eyes are shut, his face turned to the side, like he can’t even bear to look at America.

“Hey,” America says softly. “It’s rude to look away from your partner.”

England makes a noise that’s a cross between a laugh and a sob. “We’re not exactly dancing right now.”

But they are, America thinks, as their bodies begin moving together, falling into rhythm. England’s eyes don’t open. It’s almost like the time America first kissed him and it hurts. America wonders if England is even thinking of him, or if he’s imagining someone else, anyone else. England really doesn’t think of America in the same way America thinks of him. He wouldn’t be this detached or ashamed if he did.

Afterwards England leaves to get cleaned up, like he can’t get away fast enough. America rolls over so he’s lying face down in the pillows. He can still smell England’s scent on them.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It shouldn’t feel so wrong.

Things are worse between them rather than better when America heads off to the kitchen and England appears some time later. America makes himself coffee, not tea. It’s one of the few ways in which he can express himself, by drinking something he likes and England doesn’t.

America wonders what will happen if he continues to do things England doesn’t like. “A moment of rebellion,” was what England had called it when America attempted to resist him earlier. He wonders what England will do he if he really decides to rebel, to go against him and his ideals.

Whatever the case, their relationship has already changed. The only way now is forward.

Predictably, England disapproves of America’s choice of beverage. America doesn’t care if England considers coffee to be unrefined. He’s finally starting to figure out what he wants and, more importantly, how to get it.

 

End.


End file.
